


The Cantina

by Katowisp



Series: The Ballad of the Mandalorian [1]
Category: Star Wars, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Bar Room Brawl, Gen, Gun Violence, Soul-Searching, Walk Into A Bar, gunfight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:55:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22041409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katowisp/pseuds/Katowisp
Summary: The Mandalorian walks into a bar. Trouble follows.
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: The Ballad of the Mandalorian [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1589020
Comments: 7
Kudos: 151





	The Cantina

The barkeep looked up as the door swung open, an armored man silhouetted in the door. “A Mandalorian,” he heard one of the regulars, Mele, mumble into his glass. It was close to midnight but it was summer, and the sun still hung high in the sky. After the Sterilization, the only souls that came to Genosis were those trying to hide from the clawing hands of whichever ruling faction was in charge, or those coming to hunt for them. 

Slowly, the Mandalorian walked to the edge of the bar. He was gilded in silver armor. The bartender could see he wasn’t a large man and when he spoke, his voice was almost soft. “Bone broth.” 

“I’m Jace,” The bartender placed a mug in front of the Mandalorian. He peered at the helmet. “Do you need a straw?”

“No.” The Mandalorian leaned down and picked up a small— _thing_. A tiny, green creature--a _child_ clambered up on the counter and settled down in front of the gunslinger. Jace had a lot of questions, but he hadn’t kept his job and his life for as long as he had by asking questions. 

“Any jobs in town?” The child slurped the bone broth. They both stared at him. 

“Not the sort that you’re probably used to, but there’s a mine south of town looking to hire some muscle. Good work for the season.”

“I thought those had all been destroyed.”

“They had been, but—” Jace shrugged. “There’s new ones, and they’re looking for security. I can offer room and board; got vacancy upstairs.” There hadn’t been, until yesterday. But Jace had spent the afternoon rubbing the blood out of the cantina floor the night before from a card game that had resulted in an explosive disagreement. 

The Mandalorian looked around, his stoic gaze seemingly assessing the other patrons. Jace suddenly felt embarrassed for the run-down appearance of his cantina. The floors, despite his best efforts, were stained with the blood of miners rich from their work and poor in their senses after a night of drinking. He felt the Mandalorian was probably used to finer things. “How much?”

“50 credits a night, your own room, no sharing. Includes breakfast and dinner.”

“Seems fair.” The Mandalorian reached into a pouch. 

Jace reached out to grab the credits when the door slammed open. Woz, an imposing Utapaun, stood at the entrance. “Mandalorian!” He snarled, storming in. There were scars on his face from fights he’d fought, and won. 

Jace saw the Mandalorian’s form go rigid, his hand sinking to his blaster. Gone was the amicable man he had been speaking with. 

“We’re not looking for trouble, Woz,” Jace frowned. “Have a drink, it’s on the house.”

“I heard about you!” Woz stomped in, ignoring Jace. Mele sunk away from his place at the bar and slipped outside. “You’re shorter than I thought.”

“I think you have me confused; I don’t have quarrel with you.” 

“You’re the one in Beskar, and there’s a price on your head.” 

The Mandalorian’s hand was already positioned, his feet wide on the floor. He shot Jace a look. “If he gets injured, I’ll kill you.” He nodded to the child. Jace gathered him into his arms. 

“Maybe you’d rather be dead,” He told Woz. 

In the room there was a terrible silence as the Utapaun stepped out on the floor. All drinking stopped and the tick of the clock said death would wait ten seconds more. 

Woz cursed in a whisper and grabbed for the blaster on his hip. 

But the Mandalorian’s hand was like lightning, and his blaster was the same. Woz had never cleared leather, beaten before he could start. A little round hole had appeared on his shirt, the blaster shot had gone through his heart.

The Mandalorian stood there for a moment before slowly reholstering his blaster. 

Woz collapsed to the floor, and Jace felt his heart sink with him. More blood to clean. He needed to invest in rugs. At least he could replace those. He was getting too old to spend hours on his knees, and Utapaun blood was notoriously hard to get out of wood. 

“I guess I won’t be staying. Thanks for looking after him.” He held out his hands, and Jace gave the child back. “I’ll pay for the damages.” 

“Consider it paid,” Jace jingled the fifty credits in his pocket. The Mandalorian nodded. 

“Thank you.”

The Mandalorian and his Child left, leaving Jace alone in an empty bar, save for the cooling Woz. 

Later as the morning rush came in, and Jace draped a rug over the most recent stain, he considered the Mandalorian. He couldn’t help but think the man had been looking for a little stability and safety and regretted that he couldn’t provide the refuge he had been seeking. 

If he ever saw him again, Jace would say, “Mandalorian, it’s me, your friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> The Mandalorian is heavily Western based. I've been jamming to some Western ballads. This series is the results. Kudos if you can name the song.


End file.
